The Cost of Your Magic
by ToriTC198
Summary: Derek spun around on his heel in panic when the smell of Stiles' blood hit him. It took a moment to process what was going on but then the four werewolves attacking the pack were suddenly spewing black and Stiles started grinning triumphantly. Or the one where Stiles finds magic, a kind that demands a price be paid for each spell, and Derek starts to notice the cost Stiles pays.


Derek spun around on his heel in panic when the smell of Stiles' blood hit him. It took a moment to process what was going on but then the four werewolves attacking the pack were suddenly spewing black and Stiles started grinning triumphantly. It became pretty obvious that Stiles had cast a spell. The teen looked positively giddy and he was nowhere near any of the fights so the best guess Derek had was that the boy had managed to bite his tongue or something else equally stupid. The scent was mild and clearly not a major injury so Derek shrugged it off as another instance of Stiles being clumsy.

The sputtering and choking of the opposing wolf pack echoed through the loft and with looks of confusion – and no small amount of fear – they stumbled out the giant door and escaped the Hale territory. No one had warned them that the Hale's had a damn _emissary_.

"Dude!" Scott's voice rang out as he ran up to clap Stiles on the shoulder. "What the hell did you do to them? That was _awesome_!" The rest the pack quickly drew closer to Stiles with expectant looks. Derek moved the other wolves out of the way so he could stand beside Stiles and assure himself that his mate was alright. He was relieved to note that Stiles didn't act injured and the small scent of pain that had spiked in him when he cast the spell seemed to have dissipated.

Stiles gave a shaky laugh – Derek guessed the slight tremble was just the result of coming off the adrenaline high of a fight – and stated with evident pride, "I infused them with a bit of mountain ash. Not enough to be lethal, just enough to freak them out. Want to know the best part?" Stiles wiggled his eyebrows and smirked before announcing gleefully, "I teleported it straight into their bloodstreams. It was the coolest thing ever right? I have never been more proud of a spell."

Excited murmurs bounced back and forth in the small huddle of teenagers and high fives were readily exchanged before Derek cleared his throat and asked, "Stiles, where did you learn that kind of magic? Deaton didn't teach you that." He had supported Stiles when he chose to receive official training as an emissary but that involved working with herbs and such, not whatever the hell Stiles had managed to do.

As if sensing his discomfort, Stiles reached out for Derek's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze before answering. "Well you know how I am with research. I'm the research-iest research guy you'll ever meet. Is that even a word? Research-iest?" He trailed off staring into space for a few seconds, "Sorry. Off topic. Point is when Deaton graduated me from Druid class I went looking for more. I found some new books that have magic a hell of a lot cooler than what Deaton was able to give me. I've been studying all summer just waiting for the chance to use the spells." He puffed his chest out in pride, "Well worth the wait I'd say. That was freaking _amazing_." He punctuated this statement by wind milling his arms around frantically.

Isaac and Scott enthusiastically agreed and more high fives were exchanged. Allison just rolled her eyes at Stiles' antics. Soon the rest the pack ambled off, still congratulating themselves on successfully chasing off the rival pack. Derek pulled his mate aside and looked him in the eye to make sure Stiles was truly paying attention to his words, "Stiles, I want you to be careful with this. I'm glad you're getting stronger but you need to remember that not all magic is good."

Stiles leaned in for a quick peck and beamed at Derek, "Thanks for worrying, but I've got this. I'm going to be the best emissary ever and I'm going to finally be able to contribute as much to the pack as you werewolves do."

With a fond look Derek stroked his hand along Stiles' cheek. "You already contribute more than enough to this pack. We would be nothing without you."

"Glad that we agree then." Stiles said brightly. "Now I'm headed off, see you whenever I see you, Sourwolf." Then Stiles proceeded to blow Derek a kiss and skip – who the hell _skips_ – back home.

If anyone had followed him home they would have noticed as he changed for bed that hidden beneath the thick layer of his sweatshirt was a pattern of four shallow cuts dragged across his chest. They had hardly bled so Stiles shrugged it off unconcerned.

* * *

"So explain to me again what exactly you're doing." Derek asked as his eyes swept the floor of the rebuilt Hale House. Intricate chalk marks covered nearly every inch of floor by this point and Derek was honestly surprised every time Stiles managed to find another blank space.

Stiles rolled his eyes and looked up from the sigils he was drawing. "I've told you at least four times already, Derek. I'm warding your house from other creatures and packs. When I finish nothing supernatural will be able to enter without your permission. It'll be like they're all vampires; they can only come in when invited. Though you've never been the cute-and-cuddly type Alpha who wants to invite the kelpies over for tea so I suspect the invites will be limited."

"Why is it taking so long?"

"I don't know? Maybe because it's a complicated process and I have over a hundred things to draw before I can complete the spell?" Sarcasm laced every word of Stiles' answer. "If you want anyone to be able to just come breezing into you shiny new house then feel free to make me stop. Otherwise, let me resume the working of my awesomeness in peace."

"Well how much longer will it take? I'm getting tired just watching you and Scott and Isaac gave up an hour ago. You've been off in your own world so maybe you didn't notice, but they've been wrestling in the yard for ages and frankly I'm slowly losing my belief in their heterosexuality." Derek shot another glance towards the two fighting wolves and grimaced. No _way_ were those two not in love.

Clapping his hands together in triumph Stiles stood up. "Finished!" He took a step back to admire his handiwork and he dragged his sleeve across his forehead before any sweat dripped into his eyes. "Three freaking hours of making runes all over your floor and I'm finally ready to do the actual spell. This is going to be awesome!" Stiles glanced at Derek, eyes gleaming with excitement, and shot him a cocky grin. "You ready?"

Derek didn't answer; he just raised his eyebrows in a look that clearly communicated, "Get on with it already." He folded his arms and leaned back against the doorframe keeping one eye on Stiles and the other on the two wolves outside the door. He saw Stiles waving his arms in a complicated gesture and heard the slight mumble of an incantation whispered under his breath. Then he heard a very audible cracking sound and a slight hitch in Stiles' breathing as the runes glowed and faded into the floor.

Derek turned a concerned look to his mate but Stiles just gave a cheery grin and a thumbs up. "House is officially everything-proofed. You're welcome."

Darting his gaze around the room, Derek could see nothing that would explain the sound he had heard. He would have sworn up and down it was the sound of a breaking bone but none of his pack acted injured. Stiles' scent was filled with exhaustion and the thrill of success; Derek could tell there were more layers to the scent but the excitement was overpowering and Derek couldn't quite get a read on what lay beneath it. His eyes swept over Isaac and Scott again. Perhaps in their roughhousing one of them had accidentally broken something. If so, it was healed already so it must not have been a bad break.

Stiles gritted his teeth against the sharp ache in his arm, fighting not to make any suspicious sounds. He was pretty sure Derek had heard his arm break but Stiles hoped that Derek didn't realize what the sound was. Stiles had been expecting the break – knew it was part of the spell – but the knowledge had only given him the ability to brace for it before it hit. It certainly hadn't stopped the pain. Still, the house was warded and safe. It was a fair trade.

Now he had a new problem. He couldn't hide a broken arm but he also couldn't let the pack know exactly how the injury had been caused. He didn't feel they would be too keen on the idea of Stiles using magic anymore if they knew. Thankfully he had come prepared with a plan.

Before Derek could even consider investigating further, Stiles sprinted past him and practically flew down the stairs. He tossed a quick, "Just realized I'm late for dinner." Over his shoulder and ran full force into the woods.

He didn't make it very far and all three wolves flinched when they saw Stiles' foot catch on a root. He fell gracelessly and the impact wrenched a loud cry from his lips. The feel of his already broken arm slamming into the ground was severely unpleasant and Stiles' shout of pain was entirely genuine as the bone cracked further.

Derek was at his side in an instant, soothing the pain as best he could and checking the boy over for injury. Dirt covered Stiles' left side and he was holding his arm gingerly. His wide brown eyes brimmed with tears that he blinked back as the pain receded into the thick black veins crawling up Derek's arm.

"Shit!" Stiles hissed. "I think it's broken."

Stiles missed the dark look that crossed Derek's face at those words. If he had seen it he would have assumed Derek was just unhappy about Stiles being injured. In reality, Derek's look was because he was absolutely positive of two things.

Stiles' arm was definitely broken.

There had been no sound of breaking bone when Stiles hit the ground.

Derek had no doubt in his mind now that it had been Stiles' bone that snapped a few minutes earlier. For some reason his mate was lying to him about it and Derek was going to find out what was going on if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

"Dr. Deaton?" Stiles mumbled into the phone. "It's 6AM. It's still practically night. Why are you calling me at 6AM?" He blinked his bleary eyes, trying to clear the sleep that still clung to the edges of his vision.

"It's Scott. One of those new hunters managed to clip him with an arrow and I need your help to heal it." Deaton's voice was rushed and worried sounding.

Stiles sat up straighter, the last vestiges of sleep finally fading away to be replaced by concern. "Why isn't he healing?"

"Wolfsbane tipped arrow. You're better at handling wolfsbane than I am so I need you to get down here."

"On my way."

Stiles darted out of bed and threw on the clothes closest to him without bothering to even look at them. He jotted a quick note to his dad saying he was going to school early for a study group and then he was throwing open the door and diving into his Jeep. He arrived at the vet's in what would likely have been a record had anyone bothered to time him.

Scott lay on the examination table gasping in pain. Dark coloring crept slowly up his leg from what looked to be a fairly minor graze. Stiles knew that the severity of the wound didn't matter at all if there was wolfsbane though. Derek hovered in the corner of the clinic looking worried but also clearly doing his best not to get in the way of the doctor. His eyes met Stiles' when he burst through the door and Derek's whole body relaxed as he took in the rushed but confident demeanor of his mate.

The young emissary took over immediately. He demanded everyone move back as he moved forward towards his friend. With a cursory look he decided the best spell and started chanting. He traced a rune in the air above Scott's injured leg and pressed his hands to the wound as he uttered the last syllable. Scott's whole body shuddered and the sickly colors vanished from his limb. Stiles gave a quick cheer and spun around with a sunny smile before his face went slack and he dropped.

Derek caught the teen before his head had a chance to smash against the floor. He cradled the boy to his chest as he looked to Deaton for answers. "What the hell just happened?" He spat out.

The vet looked back with wide eyes and replied, "I have no idea." He motioned for Derek to place the boy on the table that Scott was in the process of vacating. Deaton checked Stiles over thoroughly, ignoring the Alpha breathing down his neck during the entire process. "As far as I can tell he just fainted." Deaton paused as if considering whether to say more. "To be honest, the magic he can do is far beyond my skill and I have no idea what sort of toll it may be taking on his body. Perhaps the boy is just drained."

Growling his frustration, Derek moved closer to his mate and grabbed his hand, lightly running his thumb across it as he waited impatiently for Stiles to open his eyes.

With a groan, Stiles started to shift and he lifted his free hand to rub his temple – trying to ease the headache that was forming. "Well that was pleasant."

Derek ignored the sarcasm in favor of jumping right into the heart of the problem. "Stiles, what the hell just happened?" The look of concentration on Stiles' face was hard to miss and it was clear that he was thinking of the best answer to the question. Derek sincerely hoped that the "best answer" and the "true answer" were the same thing.

Sounding more tired than Derek had ever heard, Stiles said, "Well for starters I completely embarrassed myself. What kind of guy faints? I thought I was _way_ manlier than that." He paused, searching the faces around him for some sign of a laugh. When he didn't get one he frowned and grumpily continued, "It's no big deal. I got dragged from bed at 6 AM, haven't eaten since 6 PM yesterday, and then I performed a complicated spell. Clearly the combination was too much for me." Stiles was satisfied. He had answered truthfully – so that the wolves wouldn't be able to detect a lie – but he had conveniently forgotten to mention that there had been another factor in his collapse. The intense and abrupt migraine – the price for the particular spell he had used – was really the ultimate factor in his sudden lapse into unconsciousness. It had felt like a blow to the head.

The look Derek was giving him was wholly unconvinced. The story may have seemed plausible were it not for the way Stiles was talking. More specifically the way he was actually stopping and thinking before he let a word out. Derek had known Stiles long enough to know that he never had a filter on his words unless he was concentrating very hard on using exactly the right words. Which usually meant he was finding a way to hide the truth without _actually_ lying. That fact coupled with the very obvious flash of pain that had flooded Stiles' scent the moment he collapsed made it all too clear to Derek that his collapse had little to do with mere exhaustion.

He kept silent until Scott and the vet had left the room. Once they were alone he faced Stiles, staring him down intently as he tried to solve the riddle that Stiles posed. "Stiles," Derek started with a deep steadying breath, "I want you to stop this. Whatever you're lying about, whatever is hurting you, needs to stop. I'm not sure how you're getting hurt but I know it's happening and I know you're covering it up."

"I'm not ly-" Stiles tried to interrupt.

Derek held up a hand to silence him, "Don't. I know that you have been careful not to tell a lie. I also know you're not telling the truth. This isn't the first time but I'm hoping it will be the last. I'm worried for you and I need you to be okay. Just…" Derek sighed and rubbed his too tired eyes, "Whatever is hurting you, I want it to stop."

Stiles nodded mutely. Derek smiled and pulled Stiles into a gentle embrace. Stiles leaned against the Alpha's warmth and wished that they could stay like that forever.

When he eventually made it home he ran his hands along the spine of his spell book. He pondered for a second the concept of listening to Derek. It would be nice not to keep hurting. Ultimately though he remembered Scott on the table too far gone for Deaton to save him and he remembered the week before when Isaac had been cornered and Stiles had needed to intervene. He remembered the day he had successfully stopped the elves from invading Hale territory and the day he had brought Allison back from the brink of death after she had been hit with a stray bullet. Memory after memory crossed his mind as he recalled all the times he had stepped in and saved his pack at only a small – completely reasonable – cost to himself. Sure, it hurt, but in the end he was finally being useful. Stiles knew he would never give that up.

* * *

Flames licked at the edges of the clearing, slowly drawing closer to the Hale pack.

"Seriously? A freaking _phoenix_? What the hell did we do wrong in a past life to deserve this?" Stiles complained loudly. His hand rested on Derek's arm, grounding the wolf as he stared down the fire. "Does anyone know how to kill a phoenix?"

"Only way I know is to put out the fire." Allison piped up. "But we don't exactly have a way to do that when we're trapped inside a burning circle with no access to water."

The fire jumped closer to them, the smoke growing heavy in the air. Derek flexed his claws, angry that there wasn't anything that he could attack. Punching fire wouldn't exactly end well. Scott, Isaac and Allison had clustered together, all holding hands and trying to make themselves as small as possible to evade the advancing heat.

Stiles' mind whirred through the possibilities. His pack was helpless, unable to do a thing against this new threat. None of the spells he knew could call water to him so that was out of the equation. With a quick burst of clarity Stiles' churning thoughts connected with a plan. He took a ragged breath, struggling to get clean air into his lungs despite the smoke all around. He was _not_ looking forward to this spell. Especially as he looked around at the sheer amount of fire.

He took a step closer to the dizzying heat, ignoring when Derek reached out to pull him back. He stared down the fire – and the phoenix flying just behind the circle – and he started his magic. His voice was rough but he fought the words out through the thickness of his smoke choked throat. With a quick gesture and a final word the spell took hold and despite his efforts he couldn't help the scream that tore from his throat as he felt the fire race up his arms and into his chest. Without conscious thought, he had fallen to his knees in the dirt as the fire continued to pour into him.

He was writhing on the ground. Derek's arms were trying to quell his thrashing, speaking words of comfort and drawing some of his pain away. Through the haze of pain Stiles heard Isaac's voice, "It's gone. The phoenix just disappeared. What the hell just happened?" It was the last thing Stiles heard before he passed out.

He woke up in Derek's bed. His arms and chest burned and even the gentle weight of the sheet felt like too much to him. Derek sat in the chair beside him, fear etched into every line of his face. The rest the pack clustered around the foot of the bed looking almost as bad. When they saw Stiles' eyes crack open the relief in the room was instantaneous.

Stiles gave a weak smile to his pack as he filtered through every possible excuse in his head for what had happened. He knew from the look Derek was giving him that he was _not_ happy. Stiles found himself suddenly very glad that he had finally learned how to control his heartbeat to conceal a lie.

Derek very gently rested a hand on Stiles' burning arm, alleviating as much pain as he could. Then his eyes looked to Stiles and with a voice that was hard and tight with restrained anger he growled out, "I want an explanation. What the hell did you do out there? Tell me exactly why your body is covered in burns and how you single-handedly destroyed the phoenix."

"Well it started out simple enough. I knew a spell that I thought could destroy the phoenix and I stepped up to use it."

"A spell that burns you alive?" Derek hissed. Flashing red and radiating fury.

"Don't interrupt, Sourwolf." Stiles kept his voice light and joking, refusing to acknowledge the anger in Derek. "The spell didn't burn me. The phoenix did. I think it knew that I had the power to stop it, so it threw everything it had at me." Stiles stopped talking long enough to let a low moan escape him as a wave of pain hit. "I was able to keep the spell going though and I guess the phoenix just wasn't strong enough to hold out." Stiles smiled feebly with pride and turned his head to look more fully at Derek. "I'll be fine; a few burns won't kill me."

Anger still blazed in Derek's eyes but he bit his tongue to keep from lecturing Stiles. Derek knew – he wasn't sure how, but he knew – Stiles was lying. His heartbeat had remained steady and he hadn't been picking and choosing his words to avoid an unpleasant truth but still something in Derek knew the story was false. He clenched his hands in frustration as he tried to work out a way to get the truth from Stiles.

It had something to do with the magic. Derek was certain of it now. This new magic Stiles had found that was so much more powerful than Deaton's was somehow hurting Stiles. Looking back Derek wanted to hit himself for not seeing the signs before. The number of times that Stiles had been mysteriously hurt right after performing magic numbered in the dozens. So, unfortunately, did the number of times Derek had been certain Stiles was lying to him about something. How could he have not made the link between the two? He fumed at his ignorance.

Somehow over the past few months Stiles had managed to make sure that their talks never turned to magic. He generally distracted Derek with soft kisses whenever the topic started to lean in a direction he didn't want it to go. Derek cursed himself for all the times that Stiles' lips had been enough to take his mind away from more serious matters.

He was furious. With himself for not seeing the connections sooner and with Stiles for being so damn stubborn that he was going to get himself killed. Derek didn't resent the lies. It hurt to be lied to by his mate but he knew that Stiles had a reason. He was more mad at Stiles' reckless endangerment and his apparent lack of caring when it came to his own safety.

Sitting by Stiles, listening to the occasional wince or gasp of pain, Derek wanted nothing more than to shake some sense into the boy or to somehow tear out the spark inside him that gave him the power to do magic. He couldn't do either. Instead he glared heatedly at everything and everyone. He leeched pain from Stiles when it was needed and he helped spread the healing salve Deaton had provided onto the burns.

The salve worked wonders but Stiles skin was still red and angry looking. Derek fought back guilt every time he looked at Stiles – guilt over not being able to keep Stiles away from this dangerous life. More than once Derek would reach out to take Stiles' hand only to have Stiles flinch at the painful contact. Each flinch, each groan of pain, each tear leaking down through eyes squeezed tight in pain was like a dagger to Derek's heart.

At this point he didn't even know who to blame. Stiles would never have started magic – never have been in danger – if it wasn't for Derek. Yet it was Stiles who chose to keep hurting himself. Whatever methods the magic was using to cause him pain, it was clear Stiles knew about it and was choosing to continue along the same path. Worse yet he was dead set on the concept of not admitting it.

Slowly Stiles recovered and throughout it all he continued to regale the pack with tales of how he had defeated the phoenix even as it had attacked him viciously. The rest the pack soaked up the story and cheered Stiles on as he spoke. Derek just raged silently in his chair and waited for another moment alone with Stiles.

In all the time it took for him to heal, Derek managed to get the teen alone only four times. Each time Stiles refused to change his story. Determination flickered in his eyes as he insisted over and over again that the magic hadn't been the thing that hurt him.

Eventually Stiles was declared completely healed and he happily returned to his normal life and continued to avoid Derek's gaze whenever the topic of magic came up.

* * *

Stiles heart pounded in his chest as he watched his pack being torn apart by another, more ruthless, pack. These werewolves were vicious and they were out for blood. They didn't just want to steal the Hale territory; they wanted to murder every member of the Hale Pack in the process. Scott and Isaac were both fighting one on one and holding their ground fairly well. He could tell they were starting to tire though and their opponents seemed to still be bursting with energy.

Nothing compared to Derek's fight though. He was standing alone against three other wolves, an Alpha and two of his Betas. For every blow Derek managed to land he took at least two blows back.

Stiles hadn't used his magic in Derek's presence since the fire. The look Derek gave him whenever magic came up made it pretty obvious he knew at least part of what Stiles was doing when he cast spells so Stiles had just started only casting when Derek was away. Now though, he was starting to realize he had no choice. Allison still hadn't arrived and he didn't know when to expect her, Scott and Isaac were both far too occupied to help Derek, and Derek was fading fast.

Running through all the possible spells in his head Stiles got more and more anxious about his plan. He knew a trick like the mountain ash would only piss this pack off. They would slink away for now only to come back even more ferociously the next time. As far as attack spells went that only left one other option. Really it was a great spell. It injected wolfsbane directly into a werewolf's heart killing them instantly.

But the cost of that spell was higher than any he'd ever paid.

Another grunt of pain from Derek as claws raked his shoulder was all it took to motivate Stiles. He drew in a deep breath, shutting his eyes so he wouldn't have to see Derek's face when the spell took effect, and he started.

It was a longer incantation than most spells and before he was even halfway finished Derek had realized what he was doing. "Stiles! Stop! It's not worth it. Whatever you're doing isn't worth it." Derek fought with renewed energy as he struggled to get to Stiles but he knew already he'd never get there in time. Something about the look on Stiles face – the way that Stiles was refusing to even look at Derek – clued Derek in to the fact that whatever Stiles was doing was much worse than anything he'd done before. Frustration bloomed in Derek's chest backed by desperation and fear for his mate. "Dammit, Stiles, don't you dare kill yourself. I'm not worth it, Stiles. Don't finish the damn spell." Derek knew Stiles was listening even as he chanted. Tears were starting to leak out of Stiles' eyes and even though his eyes were already shut he still turned his face away from the direction Derek was in. Scott and Isaac were too caught up in their own battles and in that moment Derek knew that no one could stop Stiles. Depending on how bad things were about to get, it may be that no one would be able to save Stiles either. He sucked in one last deep breath and hoped with every part of his being that he could get through to Stiles somehow. "_Please_, Stiles, don't do this! I need you to live! Don't risk yourself for nothing!"

With one last word and two more sigils drawn into the air Stiles pressed his eyes shut even tighter, bracing for the pain. The surge of power rippled through the room and every wolf turned to look in the direction of the emissary. Derek stared wide-eyed at Stiles waiting for what he knew was coming. To his sides he noted the simultaneous collapse of all five of the wolves his pack had been fighting. He registered briefly that their hearts had stopped.

Then blood filled his senses. Stiles was still on his feet, swaying slightly and rapidly losing color. His hand pressed weakly against the growing bright red coloring on his chest. His face was drawn tight with agony and his lips were parted slightly as he dragged in each pained breath. Derek stared wide eyed, frozen in horror, until Stiles' knees buckled. "Stiles!" He shouted.

Then Derek was running, skidding to a stop at Stiles' side, screaming to Scott and Isaac to get Deaton. He tore the already blood soaked shirt off of Stiles so he could get a better look. He almost wished he hadn't. Five deep gouges, each about six inches long, ran across Stiles' chest. Each mark cutting down to – and at their deepest point cutting into – the bone, exposing the teen's rib cage to the open air. Every breath was labored and the pool of blood was steadily growing beneath him. Derek swiftly tore off his own shirt, wadding it up and pressing down on the gaping wounds to try and slow the bleeding. The sudden pressure made Stiles' body thrash against the pain and his anguished scream that slowly devolved into sobs would haunt Derek's nightmares for the rest of his life.

Tears streamed down Stiles' face and his eyes were wide with panic and anguish. Derek was unsurprised to note that his own face was also drenched in tears as he stared down at the deathly pale face of the most important person in his world. His hands were already slick with Stiles' blood and the fabric of his shirt was swiftly darkening as well but Derek managed to convince himself that perhaps the bleeding was slowing.

He dragged his eyes away from the mess that was Stiles' chest and was almost as horrified by the rest of Stiles. The boy's body was pockmarked with scars and bruises. Each wound was a slap in the face to Derek. Another place where he had failed to realize what Stiles was doing to himself. Derek thought Stiles had stopped the dangerous magic but these blemishes were mostly fresh and the sting of failure draped over Derek as he begged Stiles to hold on.

Derek almost let out a hysterical laugh when he noticed that Stiles was trying to crack a smile. Blood stained the emissary's teeth and the rattling sound of his breathing filtering through gritted teeth sent shivers up Derek's spine. Of course Stiles was trying to smile. If anyone was going to smile and be cheerful as they died in agonizing pain it would definitely be Stiles. Idiot kid never knew when to stop smiling.

Derek leaned down a pressed a kiss to Stiles' forehead before letting his head sink to Stiles' shoulder. He tried to find the scent of Stiles amidst all the blood but it was getting harder and harder. The scent that was so distinctly Stiles was starting to fade from the body underneath him. He sat up straighter again, still holding pressure on Stiles' ragged chest, and he used his free hand to lightly cup Stiles' cheek. He directed the boy's gaze to him and – though it was slightly unfocused – Stiles eyes connected with Derek's and held.

"Listen to me Stiles," Derek found himself pleading, "You're going to be fine. Deaton is already on his way by now and he's going to heal you. You hold on. You keep fighting, keep breathing, and keep your damn heart beating… Just stay with me." It didn't take very long for Derek's pleas to devolve into wordless murmurs of comfort and desperate aching need. Occasionally the words, "I love you." Would seep into the steady flow of sounds but Derek was mostly unintelligible.

Even the weak attempt at a smile had fallen off Stiles' face and Derek just held on to the boy even tighter. When Stiles' eyes drifted shut and his head slumped to the side Derek was positive he had lost him. His heart shredded inside him at the thought and it took a few seconds for Derek to register the faint and stuttering heartbeats still fighting beneath the shredded flesh and muscle of his mate's chest. Derek closed his eyes and willed the struggling heart to keep going.

Then Deaton was beside him, Scott and Isaac were dragging Derek's hands away from Stiles' chest while Derek struggled to stay, Isaac was hugging him while Scott leaned against the two and cried. Deaton worked furiously, pulling out plants and whispering incantations. Derek knew they weren't as strong as Stiles' healing spells but he let himself hope that maybe they would be strong enough to keep Stiles alive.

Stiles' heart skipped a beat and Derek shuddered into Isaac's hug. It faltered again, taking longer to restart then before. Deaton looked harried and he spewed his incantations out faster.

It was tiny, such a small change that Derek struggled to see it even with his wolf eyes, but the edges of the wounds started to knit back together. Shortly after Derek noticed the change, he realized that the bones of Stiles' rib cage were covered back up by a thin layer of muscle that was steadily getting thicker. Slowly Stiles' heartbeat grew steadier again as the flesh healed and the muscle grew back. Derek pulled away from Isaac gently, returning to Stiles' side but being careful to stay out of Deaton's way. Derek grasped Stiles' hand firmly in his and held it to his lips, kissing the palm of it and breathing in the scent of Stiles. It wasn't fading anymore; his scent was growing stronger again with each second that passed. Derek wasn't certain he would ever get enough of that scent.

By the time Deaton had finished, the deep gouges had healed into angry red scratches. Derek was certain it would still take Stiles quite a while to recover from them but what remained was no longer life threatening. He breathed a sigh of relief.

With a gasp, Stiles' eyes popped open and he flicked his gaze around from one face to the next. He saw Deaton looking exhausted but happy, Scott and Isaac hugging each other and smiling fondly at him, and lastly Derek's loving gaze – tears still drying on his cheeks – looking at him as if he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

"I think," Stiles rasped out as he met Derek's eyes, "perhaps you were right about this whole magic thing. Not good. I'm going to stick with just what Deaton taught me from now on."

Derek didn't say a word, he just leaned in and lay a soft kiss on the lips of the man he had almost lost. When he pulled back he whispered, "If you ever scare me like that again, I-" Derek's voice cracked.

A faint smile rose on Stiles' face as he replied, "I wouldn't dream of it, Derek." Stiles managed to weakly lift his arm up enough to wrap his hand around the back of Derek's neck. He tugged the werewolf in for a gentle kiss and as thy parted he whispered, "I love you. I'm not ever going to leave you."


End file.
